


Tempest

by Eerily



Category: South Park
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eerily/pseuds/Eerily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was your well built house. I was your shelter. Fluffy oneshot for okouhai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> Smooth listening: Tempest by raincookie

Rain cascaded down from a blackening sky. It was thick and heavy, almost like syrup without it's sweetness. I bared the brunt of the storm as the soles of my shoes skimmed over rippling puddles.

I did this as a child.

In the face of a raging storm I would twirl a light blue umbrella. I would splash in the pockets of tears the gray left behind in potholes. That image was forever stained into my mind. It was different then. A lot of things were, really. Still, nothing had changed quite as much as the rain. The bolts of lighting I once chased were a thing to fear, and the rolling thunder I once screamed back to was a warning to hide.

This was because of you.

Still, I understood the sacrifices I'd made. I didn't regret them. Instead, I followed the shadow of the child I was. He splashed. He twirled. He played on smooth sidewalks lined with freshly cut green grass.

Those things were only still real in my head. Our world changed just as much as I had.

Looking down, the cement was cracked and weathered. Looking beside me, once new houses were missing windows or being overgrown by vegetation, but looking up... looking up there were trees that had grown tall enough to brush against the blue in the sky. There were trees that stood unrelenting against the whipping wind and rain. They swayed, but never surrendered.

Rather than become worn and broken like the sidewalk under my feet, I grew like the trees.

This was also because of you.

At the end of the sidewalk, I came to a door. Actually, I came to the house the door belonged to. It was around back and decorated with speckles of mud and streams of water.

Without so much as a knock, I let myself into the back hallway. It was a space of closed doors and dusty picture frames. It looked just the same as it did when little me wandered through it. The wallpaper was still a striped mess of varying creams, and the hard wood floor was still covered by the same ruby red rug. The voices were the same, too. The ones that echoed through the walls like distant gunfire.

I kicked my boots off onto the mat beside the door. My sopping jacket was hung on the rack above them only a small moment later.

Barefoot and wet, I made my way through the hall. I opened each door, peering inside of closets, bedrooms, and half-baths. I was looking for something. Perhaps it was comfort or strength. Love and kindness were also good possibilities. Still, even as the final door at the end of the hall cracked open, I hadn't found what I was searching for. With an anxious huff, I hurried through that final door and into a wide open living room. This too was familiar, but I was too busy searching to take in the sights.

I was too busy searching for that comfort and strength.

That love and kindness.

The loud and wavering voices that rang through your house were coming from the kitchen. They made me hurriedly scramble up the steep staircase that lead to the second story.

I was met with another hallway and more doors.

With a frown, I began to once again peek into every room, starting with the one closest to the stairway. It was a plain and empty looking space with little more than a bed and a dresser inside.

Your room.

I frowned realizing you weren't there.

Continuing on, I looked into every door until coming across the master bath.

It looked still and empty, but the shower curtain was pulled closed. A hope lifted in me when I hurried towards it. My fingers gripped the edge and pulled it back, revealing a small person inside. He was huddled in a ball inside the bathtub, and I knew it was you.

"Gah!" You yelped before pressing yourself up against the shower wall. "C... Craig! Don't scare me like that!"

I gave you a smile. It seemed relieved, although only partially so.

My strong arms found their way into the tub with you. They scooped you up against my front. You didn't struggle. Instead, you latched on like a castaway to a log.

I didn't say anything. Talking was one of the many things I was never good at, and you understood. Just having me there with you was enough.

No one else ever thought of me that way. It made me feel special, which made you special.

I carried you to your empty room with nothing but a bed and and a dresser. I laid you down on your bed. My head rested on the nearest pillow. A sigh fell from the lightly parted lips only inches from my face. It was the same sigh you made when you would get home and kick off your shoes after a long day. It was one of calm relief.

The loud bang of distant thunder shook you out of your calm trance. With a yelp, a pair of scrawny arms trapped me in their embrace. I let you tremble and whimper without question.

"It's okay," I croaked out. I remember being embarrassed at how hoarse it sounded, though you didn't seem to care. You were too surprised to hear any noise leave my lips, let alone words.

"You talked," your small voice trembled in awe. "You never talk."

I know. Talking is hard.

You give me a shaky smile, and for a small moment you forgot about the rain.

_BOOM!_

You practically buried yourself underneath me when thunder exploded somewhere nearby. Gently, I patted your back as I always did. It wasn't much, but it's all I knew to do.

"Why is it so loud?" You whimpered pitifully. I wasn't sure if you meant the thunder, the screaming voices, or both.

"Don't be scared," I managed to reply in a faint whisper. "Storms always pass."

You didn't even nod your head in reply. Instead, your eyes fell closed and you asked one small favor.

"Talk again..."

I swallowed in confusion.

"I like your voice..." the sound that came from your lips shook just as badly as you did. I wanted to oblige, but, again, talking was something I was never much good at.

My eyes looked for patterns in the ceiling to give me inspiration. There were so many things I thought and didn't know how to say.

I love how your eyes go half lidded when you blow on your coffee.

I love that quirked little grin you get when you try hard not to laugh at something.

I love the occasional blush on your cheeks and the light little freckles that dot your nose in the summer time.

I could have said any of those things, if only I knew how.

"I... like tacos?"

I mentally face palmed in my horrid embarrassment. But I heard a sound... One that was small and quiet under the low rumble of thunder and the commotion downstairs.

Laughter.

You were laughing.

Downstairs your parents were screaming. Outside a storm wreaked havoc, but in here... in here in spite of all those things seeping through the drywall, all I could hear was your laughter.

It was so rare I'd forgotten what it sounded like, and even you seemed surprised by how joyful it was.

I would stumble through awkward phrases over and over if it meant I could always make you smile like that.

I scooped you up against me and squeezed tight. You were the only one who ever saw that tender side of me. Giving affection was just as hard as speaking. Such things were a foreign concept to me before you came along. They got easier, though, the longer we were together. That warmth that came from those things became my comfort and strength.

My love and kindness.

Your fingers were shaking when they brushed the stubble of my jawline. They always shook, even when you seemed calm. I took your unsteady hand in my own and offered a soft squeeze of reassurance.

"Why do you care about me so much?" you asked quietly. An unpleasant twinge filled my chest cavity at the questioned.

After all this time I thought you knew.

I was the bad one.

I was always the bad one, even when I was that little kid twirling his light blue umbrella in the rain.

I was the pushy one. I was the awful one who only raised a hand to strike and spoke a language composed of only insults. Love was hate and pain was pleasure. It was the only pleasure I'd known.

That was before you.

That was before I ripped my arm open running from the cops, and your shaking hands wrapped my gaping wounds with gauze. That was before my dad split me in two with words stronger than a fist, and you let me crumble into the folds of your sweater. That was before I had comfort and strength. That was before I knew of love and kindness.

Before I knew of you.

I cared about you because you were the only one who cared about me.

I was a crumpled piece of paper you plucked from the trash. You smoothed out my wrinkles and taped shut my tears. You saw my story written there in smudged ink, and, with those unsteady hands, you wrote and ending worth living to see.

"You take care of me," I muttered quietly. "I love you."

Lighting flashed in your window, but you didn't cower under your blankets. You just stared at me with eyes that looked hazy before biting your lip and sinking down against my front where you could hide.

For me, the storm outside was just what it was.

For you, it was the physical embodiment of the horror in your head. It was a clusterfuck of your mistakes, dead ends, and toothy monsters who lived to watch you fail.

But I was your well built house.

I was your shelter.

I am your shelter.

"I love you, too."


End file.
